


Margarine for Error

by Windian



Category: Tales of Graces
Genre: M/M, Richass Week 2016
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-07-23
Updated: 2016-07-23
Packaged: 2018-07-26 05:49:02
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 755
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7562767
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Windian/pseuds/Windian
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Asbel and Richard are ready to take the next step in their relationship. Yet, Asbel worries how their friends will react to the news.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Margarine for Error

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Richass Week day 6: "courage to face fears."

"Asbel, are you ready?"

Asbel swallows. This was his own suggestion, and yet, he's not sure he'll ever really be fully prepared. But all the same, he nods. "Yeah."

Richard moves in to straighten Asbel's collar, a shadow of guilt passing across his eyes, ripples skipping across a still pond. "You don't have to do this, you know."

"I know," says Asbel. "But I want to."

The guilt in Richard's eyes softens into something warmer, and his hand slips up to graze Asbel's cheek. Asbel leans into his touch.

This was his own suggestion, but he can't help but ask, "Do… do you think the others will be disgusted?"

Richard bites at his soft underlip. "Pascal will be fine with it."

"Hah! I think she might even be happy about it. But Sophie… and I can hardly imagine what Cheria will think." He doubts she'll be able to look at him the same way, afterwards.

"If… if you're not ready, Asbel, then…" Richard says, but vehemently, Asbel shakes his head, reaching up to squeeze Richard's hand.

"I want to," he says once more.

There's a soft rap at the bedroom door. Breakfast has been prepared, and their friends are waiting.

It's now or never, Asbel thinks.

* * *

 

Yet, as Asbel takes his seat at the breakfast table, the nervousness is thick and heavy in his stomach.

Sophie leans over the hardwood table to peer up at him with wide eyes. "Asbel… you look pale. Did you not sleep well?"

"You do look a little peaky," Cheria says, as she stirs her tea. "Pascal didn't keep you up with her snoring, did she? I know she was down in Sophie's room, but I know from personal experience brick and stone doesn't help one bit." She shoots a look at Pascal, who, feet up on the table, takes a bite of her toast and shrugs.

Under the table, Richard squeezes his hand.

Frederic brings out his plate, and he steels himself. "Are you… quite sure about this, my Lord?" Frederic asks, and Asbel nods, jaw set, tight with resolve.

He's glad Richard is here at his side.

Asbel clears his throat. "Guys… there's something I need to tell you. Things are going to be kind of different from now. I know the idea might take some getting used to, but…"

He thinks he sees Cheria's eyes shift from him to Richard and widen, knowingly.

Richard squeezes, tighter.

And Frederic sets his plate on the table. In the shallow valley of the hushed silence, it makes an almighty clatter.

The family butler lifts the platter, and a pungent smell rolls across the room: a potent mix see-sawing between old cheese, used socks and hot garbage.

"Ugh!" Cheria's nose wrinkles, and Sophie clamps her hand to her face. "Asbel, that's… that smells _disgusting_. Why on earth _are you eating that?"_

"From now on, for a week, I'm going to eat natto on toast every morning for breakfast," Asbel says, which are brave words considering he's trying to hard not to gag, and that's just from the smell. "I'm going to learn to like it."

"Ugh, but… _why_?" Cheria asks.

"Because Asbel refuses to kiss me after I've eaten it," Richard tells them.

"Richard!" Asbel exclaims, cheeks reddening. Why had he agreed to this again?

Sophie presses her hands together. "That's so nice."

"It's not nice, Sophie," Cheria says, "it's just disgusting. You mean to tell me you're really going to eat that, Asbel? All of it?"

Another pungent wave of old socks hits his nostrils, and Asbel swallows. "Y-yeah… I hope."

He hesitates.

"Well, if he won't, I'll finish it off," Pascal says, watching Asbel, and his plate of natto, with great interest. "He—ey, Richard. If you dated me, you could eat all the natto ya wanted!"

Richard gracefully arcs an eyebrow. "Is that an offer, Pascal?"

Pascal leans over the table to swipe at his breakfast, and Asbel pulls his plate to him, shielding it jealously. "Hey! Hands off, Pascal. I'm going to eat every single last bite of this. Just watch me."

As he speaks, he takes a piece of toast, and glaring at Pascal, rams it into his mouth.

A few minutes later, he's still coughing, still trying to rinse out the god-awful taste with a glass of juice, forget the stingy, gooey texture that was more like _slime_.

Richard rubs comforting circles on his back, eyes heavy with apology.

Pascal raises her hands and shrugs. "Eh. He's yours, Asbel. Guess I can't beat true love."

**Author's Note:**

> you can blame (or thank) ikb for prompting me this. :^)


End file.
